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Severn was utterly silent in response to her certainty.
Given the color of Teela’s eyes, Teela shared Kaylin’s belief. This Yvonne was probably the threat to the Consort’s position.
“You come from the West March?” Teela asked in oddly accented High Barrani.
Yvonne’s eyes grew greener, although blue was still the predominant color. “I do. I’m sorry—I’ve been trying to learn the
names of the many Lords of the High Court, and some of their history. I knew of you—you wield Kariannos. You’re the first of your line.” She spoke with genuine respect, even awe.
“My maternal family was of the West March,” Teela told Yvonne. “The High Halls is a very different place.”
Yvonne nodded.
“In my youth, I preferred the West March,” Teela continued, smiling. There was an ocean of pain beneath the surface of that
smile. “But if one is to gain power among our kin, it is here.”
“. . . if one wants power,” Yvonne murmured.
Teela exhaled. “You were at home in the West March.”
“I was. But my only remaining friend is here, in the High Halls. He’s adopted me, and An’Tellarus is teaching me.”
“Or trying,” was the dry addition. “Yvonne is young. The customs of the West March are, in the absence of war, more pastoral. But this is not the first time she has been strongly affected by Barrani politics. She has not yet learned how to express wariness in a suitable way. Clearly,” she added, criticism in that tone.
“Perhaps she trusts her instincts, An’Tellarus. I am in the company of two mortals, after all.” Teela’s tone was neutral.
“And were she mortal, that would be fine; she is not. Why are you so interested in her? I perceive it is not interest in either
me or the plans I might have.” There was a touch of warning in An’Tellarus’s question.
“Why are you so interested in her?” Teela countered.
“I have been asked—as a favor, from one lord to another—to see to etiquette lessons and to familiarize Yvonne with the structures
that underlie the High Court. I considered the request with care and decided that a different tutor would not suit the purpose.
We all learn from our various mistakes—but only if we survive them. Our youths were not always kind to the ignorant.”
Yvonne flinched at the word and lowered her head; Kaylin found both of her hands curling into fists.
She means no harm, Severn said, interior voice both urgent and quick.
Do you trust An’Tellarus?
Silence. It is never wise to trust powerful Barrani. But inasmuch as I can, I do. At least where Yvonne is concerned. If I were Sedarias, I might have a different answer. I trust that she won’t
harm Yvonne.
Or use her?
Not in a way that Yvonne won’t accept.
Kaylin really wanted to know how Severn knew this Barrani Lord and her student.
“My cousin is An’Sennarin. He’s from the West March, originally.”
An’Tellarus shot her a sharp look. “That, however, is not something others in the High Court need to know. What do I always say?”
“Don’t make enemies without cause?”
“Yes, that. To speak of the West March, and a significant line of the High Court, in such a fashion could be considered a
subtle insult.”
“But I’m from the West March—and Ollarin would never consider that an insult!” Yvonne’s eyes had shaded to a darker blue—the blue
of anger, given her expression. “If he weren’t here, I’d go back tomorrow. I’d leave today.”
“And now you are offering insult to Tellarus, child,” An’Tellarus replied. “I have opened my home to you, and I have done
what I could to teach you what you must know to survive. I have escorted you through your journeys in the High Halls; I have
remained by your side in any place it is permitted me.”
Kaylin frowned. “What would not be permitted a lord of your stature?” She spoke in High Barrani.
“Do you not know? You visited the Lady today. Do you think, should Yvonne be likewise invited, that I might accompany her?”
“Yvonne, have you met the Consort?”
Yvonne fell silent. Kaylin thought she wouldn’t answer. “No. No, but . . .”
An’Tellarus frowned; there was an edge to the expression that clearly demanded Kaylin back off.
“I’m sorry,” Kaylin told Yvonne. “I’m sorry, but it’s important. Things have been happening at court—”
“Do you believe I cannot protect Yvonne?” An’Tellarus’s voice was as cold as Teela’s expression. But Kaylin, dressed as a
lord, was a Hawk.
Next time, she snapped at Severn, you can wear the damn dress.
May I remind you that this was the Consort’s decision?
No. Kaylin turned her attention to An’Tellarus. If she wanted to speak with Yvonne, it was An’Tellarus she had to convince.
“Have you, in your long and illustrious life, met Lord Calarnenne?”
An’Tellarus’s eyes remained blue, but Kaylin thought her emotions had shifted; she no longer felt insulted. Her eyes narrowed
as if seeing Kaylin for the first time.
“Indeed, I have. I knew him when he was heir to his line—a line that is all but dead. Those families that served his family
fought for supremacy, and those that survive now serve Seshallan. It was a messy affair but long settled.” She glanced, now,
at Teela. “Recent rumors, however, imply the return of a prodigal son. Annarion, I believe. It is his stated intent to revive
his line: Solanace. The claim is, of course, valid; it might not have been considered valid were it not for the existence
of the new High Lord.”
Teela coughed.
“You have spent a paltry decade—given the loud sniffs of disapproval spoken in your absence—among mortals. Do you fault my
observation, An’Teela?”
Teela was silent.
But Yvonne rose.
“Yvonne,” An’Tellarus said, a note of warning in the single word.
Yvonne didn’t hear her. Or possibly couldn’t. She approached Kaylin—and knelt.
Severn—what is she doing?
I don’t know.
Can you make her stop?
An’Tellarus will. Or not. But what she allows in the privacy of her personal chambers, I can’t argue against.
You like her.
I do. But she has a temper, and she’s unpredictable. I personally think we should introduce her to Terrano and Mandoran; I
think she’d adore them.
And if she didn’t?
They’d probably survive.
Yvonne reached out for Kaylin’s hands but stopped short of touching her.
Kaylin wore long sleeves as a matter of course; they hid the Marks of the Chosen. She wore sleeves at work in the blistering
heat, and even Teela’s court dress was conservative enough to cover arms and her back. But she knew, the moment Yvonne reached
out, what Yvonne had seen.
The Marks of the Chosen.
The True Words that had taken up residence over at least half of Kaylin’s body since she was twelve.
All suspicions of and about Yvonne were confirmed in that instant. Yvonne could see the Marks of the Chosen, even concealed
as they were. Yvonne, if given the opportunity, would see the Lake in the same fashion. She would see the True Names.
It was Yvonne who had become, by existing, a threat to the Consort.
Kaylin held out a hand. Yvonne frowned, but her expression cleared; she held out hers with less certainty. Of course she did.
The Barrani didn’t shake hands often, that Kaylin could recall.
They do not. Often, if their palms meet, it is at the end of the blood oath ceremony. Severn was watching Yvonne with mild concern, but no fear of or for her.
Kaylin shook hands with Yvonne, but didn’t release the young woman or step back. “You can see them.”
An’Tellarus turned instantly. “See what?” Now she was worried.
Yvonne, however, nodded. “I don’t understand why you’re . . . wearing them? But they’re a bit loud right now.”
Kaylin couldn’t hear them. But she could see them; they were glowing, their hearts the usual gold, but their edges a different
color. Not blue, not white, colors the Marks had taken before, but something almost violet. “They’re often called the Marks
of the Chosen.”
An’Tellarus’s brows rose. The look she gave Severn was very unlike most angry Barrani expressions; on another face, she would have looked actively annoyed.
It’s not a big secret, is it?
It is not a secret to your friends, no. It is known. But Teela has taken some pains to make certain it is not widely known. She is aided in this by men like Lord Evarrim,
for whom the very thought of a mortal Chosen is almost anathema. You’re considered to be aligned with the Dragons, given your duties as a Hawk; no concerted effort
has been made to end your life because you are of value to the Consort.
Did An’Tellarus somehow expect you to tell her about this?
Severn didn’t answer—he clearly didn’t feel the need, the answer was so obvious.
“I’ve heard only a little bit about the Marks,” Yvonne confessed. “But even I’ve heard stories about familiars.” Her attention
fell on Hope. Hope, to Kaylin’s surprise, rose to stand on his two legs, elongating his neck with obvious pride. “Is he your
familiar?”
“Stories greatly exaggerate, but that’s what the Barrani call him.”
Hope smacked her face with a wing, but didn’t leave it across her eyes.
Yvonne laughed. “I think he’s adorable!”
So, apparently, did Hope. He leaned forward. Kaylin nudged him, and he leaped off her shoulder to hover at the height of Yvonne’s
green gaze.
“Can I touch him?”
“That’s up to him,” Kaylin replied, genuinely curious. Hope didn’t care for most of the people he met; he tolerated those
that Kaylin liked.
“I feel that that is unwise,” An’Tellarus said as Hope hovered. Hope squawked. The Barrani Lord’s brows rose, her eyes shifting
into the gold that was Barrani surprise before she laughed out loud.
“Where did you find him?” she asked Kaylin.
“It’s a long story. Mostly, in an egg.”
“If it were that simple, the majority of the Lords of the High Court would be involved in a dire egg hunt.”
“Would you join them?” Kaylin asked in impeccable High Barrani, because at least the surface of the question shouldn’t sound
as impertinent as the content.
“I do not think I, or the familiar, would survive; the small creature is far, far too disrespectful, and I believe I suffer
enough of that in the rest of my life.”
Squawk.